I'll Have Your Back (If You Have Mine)
by pearlydewdrop
Summary: Throughout his life, there had been very few people whom Thomas Barrow could truly call his friend...Lady Sybil had somehow become one of those few rare souls. Thomas Barrow and Sybil Crawley friendship fic. Also featuring Thomas Barrow/Edward Courtenay and Sybil Crawley/Tom Branson. Lady Sybil Lives AU!
1. Chapter 1

**I'll Have Your Back (If You Have Mine)**

_1927_

It wasn't quite the 'no expenses spared' affair that the garden parties hosted by The Crawley family in the years before the war had been.

Instead the family and a handful of selected friends celebrated the start of summer with an event that was far simpler and, in Thomas Barrow's opinion, far more pleasant to oversee.

The choice had, of course, been made by Lady Mary and her husband Mr Matthew who had taken over the runnings of the estate in recent years with a certain thriftiness and frugality that had scarcely been attempted by Lord Grantham in the increasingly troublesome years prior.

Perhaps a wise choice.

Thomas smirked discreetly as he ushered Andrew in the direction of a number of guests, the younger man brandishing a tray full of champagne.

He couldn't help but imagine his predecessor, Mr Carson's, reaction to him even entertaining an opinion on The Crawleys decision making...even if the now retired butler had, more often than not, done the same thing himself.

He could almost hear the voice of the older man berating him and wondered faintly if Carson would make an appearance later to ensure he had done everything correctly.

Thomas chuckled to himself at the notion and began bustling around to ensure everything would run smoothly for the rest of the party.

There had been a time, not all that long ago, when he would have relished the act of lording over his fellow workers at Downton. However, for better or for worse he wasn't that man anymore, time and experienced had changed him.

Thomas glanced out across the lawn, just beyond the party. He couldn't help but smile to himself when he spotted two little girls playing together both dressed in white summer frocks.

(His Lordship had been quite adamant to hang on to certain traditions).

Miss Sybbie Branson and Miss Marigold Pelham, now seven and five years old respectively, waved enthusiastically in Thomas's direction, eliciting a warm lopsided grin from him.

(And to think people used to say he didn't have a heart... how wrong they were)

It didn't take long for the young woman who had been watching over her niece and daughter to turn around, curious to see who had so readily captured the attention of the two girls.

She smiled, spotting him, and waved almost as cheerfully as the children had.

The woman in question was Lady Sybil Crawley (or rather Lady Sybil Branson).

She was probably one of the strangest but kindest people Thomas had ever the fortune of calling his friend. She had shown him compassion and offered him her friendship at a time in his life when the mere prospect of undertaking such an action would have done nothing but inspire disgust in most.

In the years that had gone by, there had been very few people in his life whom Thomas Barrow could truly call his friends...Lady Sybil had somehow become one of those few rare souls.

So he reciprocated her smile, rewarding her with a playful salute in return.

His friend.


	2. Chapter 2

_April 1917 _

The newspapers did nothing but tell story after story of the young men who were dying for King and country on the front lines.

It made Thomas sick.

The stories of bravery, of triumph, of failures and the endless statistics; it all only fuelled the constant nightmare that lived inside his mind. The papers, they recorded the number of the dead but not the lifeless faces of the men taken from the battlefields...the hauntingly pale faces that plagued Thomas every time he closed his eyes, only adding to his self loathing.

All of it...it did nothing but remind him of how terrified he had been.

Just then the door of the staff entrance to the hospital opened.

The sound abruptly pulled Thomas Barrow from his reverie. It was Lady Sybil, looking far happier, in his opinion, than anyone ought to be these days.

Her cheeks were flushed and her lips bruised. Apparently, Sybil hadn't noticed the stain on the front of her uniform, a stain that looked suspiciously like motor oil.

"Good morning, Sergeant Barrow", she said, addressing him cheerfully.

Thomas smirked.

To say the very least, the youngest daughter of his former employer and the Irish chauffeur were far from discreet about their affections...at least not to anyone so apt as himself at sussing out the proverbial dirty laundry of the residence of Downton Abbey, both upstairs and down.

The young woman hummed to herself and donned her nurse's apron and cap as happy and carefree as could be. He watched her out of the corner of his eye.

"What's got you looking so happy, Nurse Crawley?", he responded rather snarkily by way of greeting.

There wasn't need for exaggerated politeness and false smiles anymore. Long gone were his days of bowing and scraping before The Crawleys. And besides, in their time working together at the hospital almost everyone had gotten used to the bluntness of his character.

Thomas tried not to sound bitter as he observed the obvious pep in Lady Sybil's step and how his sharp words didn't seem to effect her sunny mood in the slightest.

She was on bloody cloud nine!

Internally, Thomas added Lady Sybil and Mr Branson to the long list of people he had seen fall sickeningly in love over the years he had spent at Downton...years that he had spent alone.

He knew the relationship between the two unlikely lovebirds probably wouldn't last long, especially when her family inevitably discovered it, but nonetheless he couldn't help envy them their good fortune.

Their love, at least, was lawful...something he would never experience.

"I'm just in a good mood, I suppose."

Thomas sneered, finally looking at properly her over the edge of his newspaper. "Just so you know...", he said rather candidly. "...baking soda works wonders for getting motor oil out of clothes. Perhaps your Mr Branson could rob you some from the kitchens."

Lady Sybil's face immediately turned a colour that would have rivalled Mrs Patmore's tomato soup as she put the pieces together and realised that the former footman knew of her attachment to Tom.

"You won't tell anyone will you, Thomas?", she asked earnestly, her eyes wide. "Tom and I, we're not ready to tell anyone yet! I would rather tell Mama and Papa myself."

If such a notion had came from the mouth of either of other two Crawley sisters, Thomas would simply have scoffed...but this was Lady Sybil, the budding socialist and suffragette, who had learned to cook for herself and trained to be a nurse.

Sure, he had suspected that she and Branson were in love with one another but was Lady Sybil seriously considering running off with the bloody chauffeur for good?

Thomas couldn't help but smirk at the idea. Bloody hell, wouldn't his Lordship love that!

"I don't work for you anymore", the former footman replied with a smug eyebrow raised. If Lady Sybil thought she could silence him by pulling social tank, she was dead wrong. "It's not my job to keep your secrets!"

Sybil fixed him with a look of determination and genuineness. It was a look that he would have deemed an act of given by almost anyone else but from her it looked suspiciously...real.

"I'm not asking you as Lord Grantham's daughter, I'm asking you as a friend."

For a moment, Thomas considered continuing to lord his newfound leverage over her head...but was suddenly struck by the memory of Lady Sybil as a child, back in the days when he had started working at Downton.

She had always been kind to him, much kinder than she had need to be.

...and had she just called him her friend?...that was something nobody had ever done before.

Absentmindedly, Thomas couldn't help but wonder if she would still call him her friend if she knew exactly what he was. Somehow, he doubted it...but then again his preferences weren't exactly something that she need ever know anything about.

In that moment, Thomas's face softened and he gave her nod of assurance. He would be her friend and nobody would hear her and Branson's secret, at least not from his lips.

"Mum's the word, Nurse Crawley."

Sybil smiled gratefully, unquestionably having faith in his word in a manner that Thomas knew all too well few others would share. "Thank you, Sergeant Barrow."

* * *

August 1917

Lady Sybil Crawley made her way across the dimly lit ward, mindful of the sleeping soldiers tucked into their beds around her.

She had been more than happy to make excuses for her absence at dinner earlier in the evening when Dr Clarkson had asked her to be down at the village hospital for her weekly night shift, despite how her mother had looked at her with such a disappointed expression.

At least down at the hospital, Sybil felt that she was doing something for the good of others...the same couldn't be said for spending her evening in the dining room waiting to be served. It was a way of life, Sybil was certain she could never return to once the war was over. Her experiences over the past number of years as well as...other things (especially in relation to a certain Irishman had changed her too much to everyone go back).

As she peered down along the long aisles of sleeping men, Sybil assumed that her friend, Sergeant Thomas Barrow, had already left for the night seeing as how he was no where to be seen.

She sighed deeply to herself, and strolled past a partition that she could only assume had been put up by one of the other Nurses earlier on in the evening to give poor Lieutenant Courtenay some privacy.

Of all the soldiers in the hospital, he seemed to be coping the worst with both the physical and emotional wounds that the war had inflicted upon him and awoke several times every night from night terrors.

Deciding that it would be best to check on him before she started her rounds, Sybil reached her hand just inside the partition and switched on the lamp that sat on the locker beside his bed.

In doing so she illuminated a scene that she certainly hadn't expected...

The glow of the lamp cast an orangeish hue across the blushing faces of Thomas Barrow and Edward Courtenay as the two men sprung apart from one another, the passion on their faces fading to a look that could only be described as horror.

Sybil flushed darkly, a deer caught in the headlights, as she took in the sight of the two embracing men.

"I'm so sorry...", she stammered quickly, more than ready to make a quick exit from the intimate situation she had accidentally intruded upon. "Thomas, I'll be in the kitchenette when you're um...finished."

As she hurried across the room, Sybil couldn't help but smiling a little to herself at what she had witnessed. Love at a time of war indeed...

Thomas Barrow and Edward Courtenay were too such lonely souls, both clearly haunted by the atrocities they had faced on the battlefields in France even if neither spoke openly about it, and if they could manage to find a measure of happiness and solace in one another after all they had been through then she could hardly judge them for it.

So despite what society dictated she should think, Sybil found herself feeling rather happy for the two men.

Because in her book love always deserved a chance, irrespective of class, nationality or even gender...

* * *

Wiping his lips discreetly with his pocket handkerchief, Thomas Barrow pressed down the door handle of the nurse's kitchenette, a familiar feeling of foreboding overcoming him...almost like he was walking to his own execution.

He wasn't ashamed of his feelings for Edward Courtenay, only afraid of where those feelings could leave him if the wrong person were to discover them.

God, he hoped Lady Sybil wouldn't be that wrong person.

For a moment, he almost considered threatening to expose Sybil's own secret if she outed him but the thought was fleeting, disappearing when he saw that Sybil wasn't looking at him with disgust as he had expected but with a slight smile playing about her lips.

Thomas relaxed slightly. "You won't expose me?", he asked hesitantly, loosing all of his usual bravado and swagger.

The mask of Thomas Barrow had fallen, revealing the vulnerable and lonely man that was behind it.

Sybil shook her head fervently. "Of course not, Thomas. Not ever! When I said you were my friend, I meant it. I'll have your back if you have mine."

Thomas looked at her rather stricken, rendered quite speechless by her words.

Surely there had to be strings attached to such a promise, there always had been in the few friendships he had been part of before-Ms O Brien included.

Smiling, Sybil got up from that table.

There would be time to talk about all of it later (or not, whatever the case may be) but for now she needed to be back out on the hospital ward. After all, they couldn't stand around talking all evening, Dr Clarkson or Nurse Roberts would have their heads if they found out.

"I hope you and Edward find a way to be happy after the war...", she said supportively, heading in the direction of the wards without any further ado. "...if that's what you want."

He watched her go, shutting the door softly behind her.

"Good night, Sergeant Barrow."

Long after Sybil had gone, Thomas was still standing there in amazement, mouthing her earlier words quietly to himself. He had never been at the receiving end of such a declaration of friendship before.

"I'll have your back, if you have mine."

...a part of him almost dared to hope that she actually meant it.

* * *

**And we've started going a little AU with the last two chapters. Hope you enjoyed it and don't mind too much! Thanks again to everyone who had so kindly reviewed :) **

**Pearlydewdrop xx **


	3. Chapter 3

_..._

_Downton Hospital _

_August 1917 _

_..._

Her eyes stung with unshed tears. She could still feel his blood upon her hands.

In an act of desperation, Sybil had scrubbed her fingers raw until the skin was sore and angry looking, a result of her unsuccessful attempts to wipe away the awful memories from that morning.

Every time Sybil closed her eyes, Edward was right there...cold and lifeless.

She and the other Nurses had made quick work of cleaning up his remains before the other patients awoke and saw what had become of their brother in arms. Their movements were purposeful and unsentimental. Working as a wartime nurses, death was something that they saw everyday and there was a system in place and they had to adhere to it when confronted by it, no matter the regret and the sadness that they felt inside.

Sybil couldn't help but feel a little responsible. She knew that she could have done more for Edward...that she should have fought harder for him. She sighed deeply as her own self doubt and grief crept further in upon her.

Oh why hadn't she argued more when Dr Clarkson had informed her and Thomas of Edward's referral! Why hadn't she done something?

Out of the corner of her eye, Sybil watched as Thomas, without so much as excusing himself, left the room. She saw how his face had greyed, as though he were on the verge of being sick, and his eye filled with tears.

Sybil couldn't imagine how the former footman must be feeling...the things that surely were running through his head. She thought of that evening when she had walked in upon an intimate moment between Thomas and Edward months ago and how she had witnessed the tenderness between them grow in the following weeks.

Mindful to give Thomas a few moments alone, Sybil made sure to busy herself with the needs of the waking patients. As a result, nearly twenty minutes had gone by before Thomas's absence was noted by anyone. Sybil volunteered to go look for him, certain that whatever state he would be found in following the morning's tragedies, it would be best if he was found by a friend.

And how right she was.

Sybil found him crumpled and broken on the ground, crouched against the outside wall of the hospital, his shoulders shaking with silent sobs. She tried to divorce herself from her own grief and feeling of failure and instead focused her energy on attempting to ease the seemingly crippling pain of the man whom she called her friend.

His eyes were bloodshot and he sniffed loudly, gracelessly. The sight only made Sybil feel even more useless. She approached him, slowly and carefully, as though we're a wounded animal in need of her attention.

Goodness, Sybil didn't know what to do or say in such a situation, so instead she resolved to quietly be there for him instead.

"Oh Thomas. I'm so sorry."

XXXXXXXXXXXX

Thomas Barrow glanced up, feeling relieved that his current emotions weren't on display to someone who would ask an explanation of him.

He couldn't help but scoff darkly at the sudden thought.

If he had been told six months ago that there would come a time when he would be glad and relieved at the sight of one of Lord Grantham's three spoilt daughters, he wouldn't have been capable of preventing some crude remark(most likely questioning the person's sanity) coming from his mouth.

Thomas watched, with sore and bloodshot eyes, as Lady Sybil approached him quite hesitantly, treating him as though he were something breakable.

She slid down beside him, in a rather unladylike fashion, with her back to the wall. The two of them sat on the cold concrete of the hospital, having only each other and their own salty tears for company.

Thomas thought back to the happier days that he had spent with Edward, days when he had felt accepted and loved in a manner that he had never even considered possible before.

He thought of his own feelings for Edward and how it had been (even in their brief time together) one of the purest things he had ever felt...that companionship, it was like nothing else.

"I'm so sorry", Sybil repeated after a while, her voice a mere whisper. She patted him comfortingly on the shoulder. "I know you cared very much for him."

The next sound from Thomas sounded somewhere between a grimace and a sob. He mulled over Sybil's words and the truth behind them. Thomas had felt desire and he had felt lust several times in his life before. However , there had been something significantly different about Edward that had struck something else altogether inside Thomas, something fragile and wonderful...something more.

Had it been love?

"I could have done even more than that if given a bit more time."

Sybil nodded solemnly, apparently deciding it best not to make any further comments on the matter. The unlikely duo fell into a sombre silence for several moments with heaving breaths and drying tears,

"What do we do now?", Thomas asked, feeling lost. He looked across helplessly at Sybil who sniffed loudly, apparently forcing some measure of composure upon herself. Suddenly, her voice became rather determined. "You and I are going to make sure that what happened to Edward happens to nobody else."

Thomas couldn't help but let out a miserable and humourless bark of laughter at such a naïve and foolhardy suggestion. Surely, after nearly a year spent volunteering in an army hospital even the idealistic Lady Sybil had become aware that such an ambition could never be on the cards.

No. As long as the war raged on, so would the needless death and destruction. Both at home and on the battlefields in France, there was a whole generation men totally emaciated and reduced to a shell of their former selves. Thomas had seen it with his own eyes.

"A bit ambitious are we not, Nurse Crawley?"

"Not if you and I work together", Sybil replied finally, beginning to stand up. She reached out her hand, offering to help him back on to his feet, both physically and metaphorically.

"Will you help me, Sergeant Barrow? For Edward."

Thomas frowned, a little taken aback by both her odd request and the steeliness in her eyes. He thought of Edward Courtenay and the countless others like him who had been crippled both mentally and physically by war until they could no longer see a life or a future for themselves.

For once, Thomas found himself considering the welfare of others besides himself. Such feelings of empathy were quite a new experience for him, but not one he altogether disliked. He could become a better man, in honour of Edward Courtenay's memory if not for any other reason.

He nodded to Sybil, taking her offered hand...an extension of friendship, the olive branch amidst his grief. Thomas pulled himself upright, once again schooling his features into those of the formidable Sergeant Barrow.

"Alright, then. For Edward"


	4. Chapter 4

**I'll Have Your Back (If You Have Mine):**

...

Downton Abbey

May 1920

...

"For goodness sake, Thomas. Don't stand out there all day!", Sybil exclaimed brightly, bouncing a tiny squalling bundle gently in her arms...it was her not yet two week old daughter.

Expectantly, she glanced towards the door of her and Tom's bedroom for her friend that was, from some bizarre reason, still hiding in the shadows.

(It was an apparent preoccupation of his, or so she had—with some amusement—come to realise.)

Thomas Barrow couldn't help but smirk, immediately ceasing his awkward shuffling to turn towards the woman who had somehow become his best and most unlikely friend.

Chuckling quietly, Thomas recalled the scene that had led him to what was now Mr and Mrs Branson's bedroom. As long as he lived, he'd never forget Mr Carson's half shocked and half disapproving face when the older man had told him that Lady Sybil wanted to introduce him to her daughter.

But really what more could the youngest daughter of the house do to further shock the old codger of a butler?...She'd already married the Irish Chauffeur, so surely her decision to befriend the house's most disliked footman was hardly some great surprise...even if Thomas himself was a bit surprised by it sometimes.

Jolting his eyebrows upwards in silent greeting, the dark haired footman couldn't help but note silently that, despite her upbeat humour, Sybil Branson looked downright knackered.

After what had been a very tough labour, she was still clearly quite weak.

However, slowly but surely Sybil was returning to her usual spirits...and as a result, Thomas was feeling a rather new emotion...relief and hope.

Despite himself, he smiled—a real smile.

It was one that lit up his whole face and showcased his front teeth. It was a smile that, if seen downstairs, would have certainly stunned his co-workers into silence.

He glanced across the room to Sybil who was positively beaming, her daughter babbling softly in her lap. Defying all odds and overcoming the fears of everyone upstairs and down, Sybil and her little girl had miraculously survived.

And for the first time in his life, Thomas found himself feeling truly relieved for the good fortune of someone other than himself.

"Would you like to hold her?", Sybil asked genuinely.

Well that hadn't been an offer he had expected...

Thomas's mouth gaped somewhat, his expression almost comical. Even now he was somewhat baffled by the trust Sybil placed in him. Did she truly trust him with her daughter?

"No thank you", he said quickly, looking down for the first time with complete and utter uncertainty at the infant.

She waved her little fists at him, her eyelashes fluttering.

Thomas noticed, with a small smile, that the little girl was the picture of her mother—save for her eyes that were unmistakably the image of Mr Branson's. The last thing in the world he would want was to upset her in any way. What if he dropped her? "I'm afraid I don't have all that much experience with babies."

Sybil smiled kindly. "Neither had I until a few days ago."

Thomas frowned, still hesitant. He glanced away awkwardly but not before looking down at the baby in Sybil's slightly outstretched arms. He couldn't help but notice how small and breakable the tiny girl seemed, all pink faced and chubby cheeked.

He approached the mother and daughter carefully, almost but not quite reluctant.

"I can't imagine hubby dearest would be too happy with that", Thomas quipped, his voice half serious and half jeering. He thought of Tom Branson and how it was a very rare occasion that the Irish man would see fit to shut up about his and Sybil's daughter, so much so that the whole house knew of even the tiniest coos out of the little girl. There was no way that Thomas couldn't imagine a man like that, a proud and protective daddy bear if there ever was one, content with the idea of a man...like him...holding his baby daughter.

"Don't be silly, Thomas", Sybil said defensively. "Tom isn't half as traditional as you seem to think him. He knows perfectly well that you and I are friends."

"—But he doesn't like it."

Sybil rolled her eyes in response, choosing not to reply. She waited expectantly, decisively, until Thomas had acquiesced to her offer and promptly resolved to take his seat in the armchair by the bed without any further argument.

Carefully she transferred her first born child into the care of her outwardly self conscious looking friend. Fumbling for a second, the dark haired footman clearly didn't know what to with himself.

As the unfamiliar weight of the little girl lands in his arms, Thomas couldn't help but be totally entranced by how the baby looked at him...open, unguarded and unprejudiced.

She was just like her mother.

That was the moment when Thomas made a promise to himself. He promised himself that he would never give Lady Sybil's daughter any reason to look at him otherwise.

Immediately, he found himself listening intently as Sybil instructed him to support the baby's head and tuck his other arm beneath her back. The little girl looked up at him, legs kicking and fingers clenching and unclenching. Her sea blue eyes were bright and alert. They seemed to look up at him curiously.

Sybil watched with a smile as Thomas eventually relaxed, overcoming his initial moments of visible panic. "Tom knows a very different side to you than the one I do, Thomas", she said gently. "He can't help but see the man who taunted William and who was constantly in conflict with Anna and Bates. I know that you're not that person anymore."

Thomas sighed deeply, gently bopping the little Miss Branson on the nose. He couldn't help but feel a measure of disgust well up in the pit of his stomach at the mention of his former actions...especially at the mention of William Mason. "Yeah well, I appreciate the vote of confidence", he responded darkly.

At this Sybil fixed him a determined frown, fiercely challenging him to disagree with her. "Everyone will see the good in you someday, Thomas. I just know it."

Her words hit him quick and hard like a runaway automobile.

Thomas glanced up from the baby, just about choking back a slight sob at the earnestness and honesty that he found in his friend's face. Even now, it still surprised him that there was someone in the world who thought so highly of him.

Simultaneously, it was a thought that made Thomas want to laugh and cry.

Sighing quite gruffly, he did his utmost to pull himself together—barely managing to hid the quiver in his voice...the quiver that was surely still heard by his ever so perceptive friend, even despite his best efforts.

"Thank God for you, Lady Sybil Branson", Thomas said honestly, truly meaning it.

He smiled, a small and grateful one, as he rocked the newest addition to The Crawley-Branson clan in his arms. Sitting here, now, with a very much alive Lady Sybil and her healthy baby girl, Thomas Barrow couldn't have been more thankful for his one and only friend.

Thank God for them...for both of them.


End file.
